


Not Too Late

by Kittie



Category: Dragon Age 2
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Blood, Religion discussion tbh, Slavery, all the usual triggers for fenris, i love sebastian vael light of my life, minor self depreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittie/pseuds/Kittie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian leaves his door open to any wishing to know of the Maker. </p><p>Fenris is curious after a few choice words with the Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Too Late

_It’s not too late to start._ The words echo in Fenris’ mind as he resides in the decaying mansion. He is only with his thoughts, gauntlets creaking as he flexes nimble fingers. _It’s not too late to start._

He wonders if that nagging thought it was brings him to the Chantry’s doors. He wonders if the nagging thought is what places him in front of Sebastian. He wonders if that nagging thought hasn’t only nagged himself alone. Sebastian seems as though he is pleasantly surprised. Was he figuring the former slave to not appear on his door step looking for guidance of some kind? Was that not what he was offering whilst trailing behind Hawke those few short weeks ago?

The elf stands rigid once he remembers where he is, insecurity ripples through his form. He wonders if he should return to find Hawke and forget about this entirely. Isabela would be more than happy to keep him company if he supplied the booze pilfered from a man that would rather see him chained than free to decide his own fate.

No, he’s here for a reason. The reason escapes him when faced with the Brother but Sebastian smiles, soft and welcoming, as he steps aside to give Fenris an option: come in or leave, it is entirely his decision. A breath is taken, unsteady. Had that come from his own lips? No matter, he steps forward into the room in which the brother calls his own, he assumes.

"It’s not too late to start."

"Pardon?"

Fenris winces. It was said in passing—it’s not as if he should remember Fenris beyond all others, "You said--"

"It’s not too late to start giving any of this a thought? Forgive me, you caught me off guard. I wasn’t sure that you’d wish to take up my offer but I am glad to see you here, Fenris."

Lips shut and the elf looks nearly startled. Of all the conversations the man has had—does he truly remember that one with him? He is nothing to be remembered beyond the lyrium seared into his flesh. He is not a second thought beyond his price. No, that is not true. Hawke sees him as something more. Sebastian sees him as someone worth the Maker’s gaze.

It’s all so overwhelming, if he’s allowed to comment.

"I… yes."

Sebastian nods, gesturing to a further part of the room. Fenris’ eyes catch bits and pieces of the man’s life from his room. Armor is set up against the wall, bow nearby. He wonders if Sebastian had to have special permission to keep said items within his actual room and not in an armory somewhere. Was owning such items against his vows? He's heard the Grand Cleric speak of vows that did not allow for pride and greed to fester within one's being. Weren't those items symbols of pride and greed? Surely that armor was nothing cheap.

"If you find yourself uncomfortable you may leave at any time," His accent curls around words like his fist has curled around hearts. Smooth, fluid. Fenris would wince but the fact of the matter is that he is tainted and has sinned more than he should be allowed forgiveness for. Even from a Maker he truly does not believe in, "Normally I’d suggest a confessional but I feel as though you would prefer to see my face through this. Is that alright?"

Fenris nods, swallowing down the bit of tension that threatens to cave his form. His sword is removed, placed against the floor next to the chair is assumes is to be his own during this confession. A confession he’s not even sure he wants but something nags within himself to try: it sounds suspiciously like Hawke’s voice as well. The chair is far more lavish that he’s used to under the rigid hand of Danarius who would have preferred stone digging into his knees as he pulling Fenris to bare his teeth and alight in front of any the man saw bit to intimidate. He doesn’t feel as though he’s worth enough to sit on such an item, he is tainted by the blood that stick in the crevices of his armor, that stains his finger nails to the cuticles until Sebastian gestures. He must sense the discomfort because he smiles, soft and nearly pitying—no. There are many things Sebastian does but he does not pity him.

"You may sit if you like. Can I get you water? Tea? If you do not wish to do this, the door is open and you may leave. You do not have to stay if you do not wished to."

With a shake of his head, the elf sits. Gauntlets are raised slightly as to not dig metal into the pristine varnish but, it seems, he is not the first to sit here with such gear. Tiny grooves and scratches line the arm. It merely seems at a glance that it is pristine but close up there are scars that tell a story of those who have sat where he now sits. That others have sought the same as he does now. He rests his arms and glances up to see the Brother looking at him. Again, softly. He is not a flower but he appreciates the fact he knows the former slave has a strong fight or flight reaction.

"There is no need to trouble yourself. I… do not want to confess anything. Not… yet, at least," Eyes glance up to stare into the sky so plain as day. A light contrast against the darker complexion of the brother’s skin. Eyes glance down again, focused on his gauntlets as he flexes his hand, "You said that it… would not be too late to start. I am unsure of how… to go about it. This. I am not sure I believe in what is offered but I am willing to… attempt."

"The Maker does not show Himself in obvious ways but, if you pray, He may offer guidance."

That… makes little sense. Wouldn’t a deity want his miracles to go noticed? It seems nearly coincidence is being morphed into a belief but he says nothing. Sebastian finds comfort in believing in a Maker that watches and guides him, proper. Fenris almost wishes for such security in what he’s done or what he is to do. A security he once found in a Master that told him what was right and wrong. A Master he could not keep comparing to a deity if he ever wished to keep himself free. He was not a pet. He was not a tool. He would not believe so blindly-- not any more.

"But He is there, Fenris. He may not wish for you to know it is Him who has helped. Perhaps He wants you to believe you’re more than capable of saving yourself. The Maker does little that is not on purpose."

Fenris finds himself lost for words. He nearly starts to stand, flight immediately jumping to his mind. Why is he here? What purpose is he to find within a deity that has never made itself know? A deity that cast his gaze away while he suffered under Hadriana. As he suffered under Danarius. What sort of creator would leave any of them in shackles to be treated like cattle?

A hand, calloused with use and warm against the chill of his gauntlets, keeps him still. No, the touch grounds him more than he cares to admit. His heart pounds in his chest and Sebastian still looks as soft as he had the moment Fenris had knocked on his door. There is nothing keeping him here, the grip is loose. He finds he can hear himself panting. His nerves burn, the light of the lines that adorn his skin flared, the light dimming as he comes back to himself. He is not a reaction, he is not a weapon poised to snap at any moment. He is better than that. He will be better than that.

"Breathe, Fenris, we needn’t speak of this if you do not wish. Perhaps I could find Messerre Hawke?"

Fenris shakes head, slowly easing to stand. He does not need Hawke called every time his emotions get the best of him, "No. I am… fine. I am not ready, I apologize." But there is Sebastian joining him to stand. A smile while he retracts his hand. Patient. He has been so patient with him. How dare Fenris waste his time as such?

"That is fine. My door is always open if you wish to speak again."

There is no disappointment. There is no pity. There is nothing within his voice that the elf can take and manipulate to fuel his reasoning that this is unacceptable. Nothing within that voice or body that screams he does not belong here and he does not have the right to ask such things of a Maker or of Sebastian.

"Thank… you, Sebastian." Fenris takes his sword and leaves without another word. To his home. To Hawke’s side to fight slavers. To Isabela in his living room for a drink. To Varric and Aveline. To even Merrill.

 _It’s not too late._ Sebastian says, again, in his mind. _It’s not too late._

Maybe it isn't too late as he finds himself standing in front of Sebastian's door only a few weeks later, resolved steeled to at least hear the Brother out.


End file.
